


A Second

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Post-Coital Cuddling, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 19:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16708960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Grateful today [and every day] for blue-eyed angels and their beautiful wings. Consider this a fluffy follow-up to Firsts.





	A Second

Bodies boneless, recovering from breaching the outermost boundaries of bliss, a subtle shiver courses Castiel’s shoulder where your cheek lies against the sweat saturated warmth of his bare skin; the fleeting spasm of muscle winds round his frame and travels up through the outstretched expanse of wings held aloft your entangled forms. The motion terminates in a frenzied quivering of the dense layer of still over sensitized feathers flourishing beneath the smoothing stroke of your fingertips.

As a delighted giggle shudders your ribcage over the enduring effects of your affection, a low rumble of gratification vibrates his entire vessel from where your legs wrap thick thighs to straddle his lap and upward through his solidly shaped torso to the stubble-speckled throat where it escapes as a blissful groan through his parted pink mouth. The calloused palm he holds to your spine, until then rising and falling in light caress, puddles limply downward to settle at the plum cushion of your hips. Ever doubtful of his worthiness of your love, he anticipated at best repulsion or at worst rejection, not a leisurely session of lovemaking and unselfish focus on his satisfaction alone after he showed you his broken wings; not that, in his gratitude and relief, he allowed your sensual needs to go untempered.

Lifting your cheek, you press a smiling kiss to the crimson flushed circle of flesh left in the wake of the close contact. Hot breath and passion-plumped lips tickle the cooling spot as you speak, curiosity rousing him from the deeply relaxing afterglow of your attentions. “Cas, when I touch your wings, what does it feel like to you?” You already know what it feels like to _you_ – physically comforting, spiritually awe-inspiring, and in exposing himself to you like this a profoundly meaningful expression of trust and love that fills your heart to bursting.

The question takes him by surprise; blue eyes blink open with a dewy sheen in the dimly lit bunker bedroom. The neglected extensions of his feathery extremities, out of reach of your doting ministrations on account of their massive size, arch inward; silken tips of broad flight feathers, flexible but firm even in their fallen frayed state, brush your back and nudge you impossibly nearer, compelling you again to lay your head upon his shoulder while he contemplates an answer.

The seraph, pragmatic of wisdom, knows of no words in any language that would do justice to an explanation of what precisely it is your touch denotes to him. Perhaps though, a metaphor exists you might understand for how pleasantly pervading the sensation is; he turns to nuzzle your hair, voice a tender husk of its usual penetrating bass. “May I show you?”

You nod, adjusting with a rock of the knees to delve hands behind him to massage the downy masses of fluff shrouding his shoulder blades in impish reminder what it is you’re asking him to describe.

Growl catching in his chest in response, he trembles and reflexively tightens the wrap of his wings so both of you sit snuggled in a cascading cocoon of black plumage. Running his fingers tenderly through your hair, two linger at your temple, radiant with a spark of grace.

Lashes suddenly heavy, your lids droop shut – the vision of a thousand scenes condensed into a single second, flash in your mind’s eye:

_Toes sinking into the tingling heat of sand. First rays of autumn sunlight warming the skin. Effervescence of orange peel spraying citrus scent into the air. Blazing tail of a shooting star hanging in the night sky long after the meteor burns out. A hand to hold in the void. Fat droplets of refreshing rain hitting an upturned face on a humid Kansas afternoon. Sweetness of a child’s laughter. Hushed tranquility of a snowy field. Soft fur of a kitten. Endless summer blue skies mounded with mushrooming white cumulous clouds. Delicate dance of a butterfly floating effortlessly in the wind. Secret smiles that set the heart skipping. The rainbow after a storm. Light in the dark. Dreaming of – then waking – in the arms of the one you love._

All of this and more representative of the sense of serenity the seraph feels in your acceptance, through touch, of his wings; in accepting them as part of him without hesitation, allaying any doubts he maintained you were merely attracted to the handsome trappings of his chosen vessel, you acknowledged the wholeness of the angelic being housed within. For the first time in a long _long_ time _–_ perhaps in forever _–_ cuddling you close, Castiel feels peace.


End file.
